


steadfast

by luna65



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Slash, Brotp, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Sammy & Danny: friendship goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/pseuds/luna65
Summary: The mind wanders, even when it is anchored down in love...





	steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> Here's ya girl with another sorta slashy moment...hey, I saw Danny's Instagram and I had to do **something**.

I die of love for you, but keep this secret:  
The tie that binds us is an unbreakable rope.  
\- Abu Nuwas

 

“No, my tone is all wrong!” Jake insisted.

Sam stood amused, hands on hips, his surf green P-bass resting against the wondrous architecture of his form as if an appendage. Might as well be, after all. He hummed to himself, taking a moment to look out at the near-empty venue. Troy appeared beside the one he served in an instant, checking over the signal chain and switching of the few effects Jake utilized in performance.

“No man, it’s the cab - there’s something going on in there.”

Ah Jacob, the boy who claimed that dust had a frequency. If his cabs and heads were too warm or too cold, then he could tell by the sound. One reason he had an affinity for vintage amps had to do with all the dust they’d collected within their weave and warp over decades. But none of his bandmates discounted Jake’s intuition about his gear. After a certain amount of time, you just _knew_.

This led to other considerations of instinct. Danny came out from behind his kit and sat on the riser, plucking a tune on the ukulele he kept handy for such moments. Sam stepped over, one bare foot after the other upon the worn wood of the stage. He loved these old theatres, so full of resonant vibe. Danny was playing a song they had just heard while shuffling through Spotify on the way to the venue.

_Sha la la la la la my lady_  
_in the sun with your hair undone._  
_Can you hear me now callin' your name from across the bay?_

__

Sam clenched his teeth and blew a breath through his nose.

_Goddamn it._ He liked that song for sure but there in the van, their thighs touching as they usually did when they sat next to each other, and this musical fantasy of what people might do on a deserted island...it was too much to have in his head at that moment. But it continued to distract him, a vision of Danny standing on a beach in faded and tattered cut-offs, hair rippling in the wind which was threatening to turn into a hurricane at any moment as Sam rowed faster and faster and faster

_Oh fuck._

He dug his toes into the floor and counted backwards from one hundred. He got to 88 as Danny stopped strumming.

“Doofus, you’re not even singing.”

Stiff met smooth in the area of his pelvis and Sam smirked, the smirk to hide the expression he really wanted to make.

“Wait, wait, start over.”

“No stop, we’re trying to figure this out!” Jake barked.

“The tone, the tone, in search of the lost tone,” Josh intoned, placing a sarcastic emphasis on the seemingly elusive noun. He wiggled to music only he could hear, standing near the lip of the stage.

“It was last seen running wild through the streets of Cleveland,” Sam riffed, happy for something else to think of.

Danny stood up again, stretching those long limbs.

_no no no no no_

He moved back behind the drums and looked down, frowning, his hair hanging in front of his face. He had marked out every position on the rug his kit was assembled upon and he gnawed his lower lip as he studied the pieces of tape.

There it was again: he had beached the rowboat and Danny held out his hand. Sam took it, stepping onto the sand, Danny’s grip was so firm but also effortless. He smiled.

Danny picked up his gently-used Ludwig throne, constructed to his exact specifications, like it didn’t weigh ten pounds and change, resting it on his shoulder like it was nothing at all.

_Now every mile away and every day_  
_cuts a little bit deeper._

Danny dropped to his haunches and adjusted the position of his crash just the slightest, all the while holding onto the stool, and Sam could do nothing but marvel at such feats. He remembered the first tour, Danny humping his drums through mazes of backstage corridors, up-and-down dozens of stairs, across parking lots, doing what needed to be done without complaint, until he finally dropped into a lawn chair and accepted a beer with a grateful sigh after load-out labors were concluded.

“Samuel,” Josh said, snapping his fingers in Sam’s face.

“What?” he replied, snapping back to the here and now like a rubberband.

“I think our Tone Master is finally ready.”

Jake grinned. “It _was_ the cab! Needed a little adjustment.”

Troy shook his head teasingly, wielding a screwdriver. “Whatever, Diva Boy.”

“And don’t you forget it!” Jake proclaimed, tossing his hair and hitting a power chord.

“Wagner!” Sam croaked. Danny looked up with a curious smirk.

“Dude did you _swallow_ Jakey’s tone, or what?”

Sam had to look up at the rigging to hide his sudden blush at that word, innocent everywhere but in his mind.

_Oh Jesus fuck how does this keep happening?!_

 

_****_ ****

**_***_ **

They were all supposed to stare into the cauldron, looking seriously intent upon the medium of their soon-to-be psychonaut journey. But at Josh’s insistence they were allowed a bit of leeway in their performances.

“Daniel,” Sam whispered behind his hand. “Pretend I’m saying something profound.”

And Sam knew that no matter what might happen to them down the road to their promising future, Danny would always be his steadfast partner when he simply nodded and continued to stare into the smoke of the dry ice being stirred by Josh.

And just like the director told them, _that one_ was a keeper.


End file.
